


quiet the sky

by wordcatchers



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fireworks, Korra and Mako are the focus (the others have no speaking lines), for Makorra Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7585327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcatchers/pseuds/wordcatchers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a night amongst bursts of lights and sounds in the sky, drinks shared atop a roof, actions he normally wouldn’t take. but she’s here with him, and he still loses himself in her catalyst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quiet the sky

**Author's Note:**

> i have not written makorra or lok fanfic since like, last... december?? so please forgive any fuck-ups lol, this is basically me trying to talk with them again and get into (mainly mako’s for this one) head again. also no beta, this is all for fun and for practice. and to re-iterate, this is an AU. hope you enjoy! thanks for reading ❤️

It’s still a new holiday, hardly a few years distant from its birth. The horizon is alight in burst after burst of fireworks, and the view from atop Future Industries Tower is brilliant, even more so than from their old perch at Air Temple Island. He’s got his knees pressed against his chest, while she dangles her legs off the ledge precariously. Bolin and Opal, as well as Asami and her girlfriend, are down a flight of stairs, either asleep or half there from drunkenness. **  
**

Meanwhile, he’s alert, fingertips tapping rhythmically against the ground that’s above the actual ground by at least sixty-five stories. It’s not that he’s scared, more so that he knows they’ve got a birds-eye-view of anything that _could_ and _can_ go wrong. He should be working, he should be — but he glances over at Korra, knows they deserve this night off and to themselves. It’s just… difficult; he needs a drink.

He pulls himself up to his feet, Korra tilting her neck back to get a look at him.

“Going back in?” She’s got a put-upon pout on her face.

He half-nods. “Bathroom. Oh, and — you want another drink?”

Korra’s laugh echoes across the wind picking up, buffeting his hair forward. He runs his fingers back through it, his other hand resting against his waistline.

“Of course I want another. Asami has the best shōchū. Get mine mixed with that fancy fruit and water she has, yeah?” Korra stretches her arms above her head, then back on the ground, turning to place her entire body back on the tower’s roof.

She smirks up at him, saluting, situating herself to sit cross-legged. “I’ll be waiting, city boy.”

Another burst of fireworks goes off, louder than ever, and he goes back in, leaving Korra to stand up and stretch some more. After all, they’ve both got early starts tomorrow, and he already knows they’re both going to regret drinking so much. But, hey, _“it’s National Independence Day!”_ as they’ve made a point to say all fucking day on the radios.

The day they’d dissolved the Republic City Council, the same day they’d finalized the new constitution and put forth the first presidential campaign period. During the campaign and election, a temporary council of foreign dignitaries had been assigned to oversee a smooth transition (made up of both benders and non-benders), but that didn’t matter.

What mattered was that this day, several years ago, had been the official severance of the United Republic’s commonwealth-like relationship with the other nations of the world. Before, the council members had had close or direct ties to their respective nations — the Southern Water Tribe councilman, the Southern Water Tribe, and so on — but now, the President would only have ties to Republic City and the United Republic of Nations.

Mako’s only grateful that Raiko was out now, and a better person had replaced him as the second President of the United Republic. She was still cool and calculative but had developed a great working relationship with Korra, a relatively easy feat Raiko had somehow never managed.

It wasn’t that hard to get along with Korra, he thinks as he washes up, splashing some cold water onto his face. Sure, his relationship with her had started off rocky, more his fault than hers, at least at first but — what does he even _care_ about placing fault these days? He slides a couple of fingers across his eyebrows, wipes his face with a towel, and discards the old replays of memory. They’ve both grown; Korra has an energy about her he _still_ loses himself in, and that’s all that matters.

Streams of fireworks explode in the sky, all in clear view from Asami’s penthouse apartment and its floor-to-ceiling windows. Mako blinks, still not used to seeing the grand display this way. Somehow, it feels jarring, more so than if they’d all been down at the docks, the harbor smell wafting around them, thick and heavy.

It all feels a bit. Wrong.

He shakes himself of the feeling, makes tentative plans to watch from the harbor with Korra next time.

Clearing his throat, he finds Bolin passed out on one of the couches while Opal fiddles with the radio, clumsily attempting to turn it off. Mako breathes out — half-laugh, half-sigh — and goes to do it for her.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, leading her to another couch and helping her lay down semi-comfortably. About to ask Asami where she kept her blankets, he stops in his tracks once he sees her entangled with her girlfriend, Hotaru, their sides lying against the cool glass, both apparently passed out. Figuring he should just leave them be, he turns around and walks over to the counter, where he makes Korra’s drink the best he can remember Asami making it earlier. Then, his own, same as Korra’s, except with oolong tea instead of fruit juice and ‘that fancy water.’

He straightens the place up a bit before heading back to Korra, knowing full-well that Asami also has a full day ahead of her after all of… this. Scattered plates and glasses set in the sink, maybe he’d have time to wash a few… maybe; streamers put in the trash can, lights dimmed.

_Korra._

With drinks in hand, he makes his way back up the short flight of steps to the roof. Fireworks still light the sky in an array of colors, forms, sounds. Korra, however, isn’t watching them. Her form prostrate, back to the ground, he isn’t sure if her eyes are shut until he sits down beside her.

She’s looking up at the sky; no stars, no hope to spot any in the pollution of the city. Still, she looks as if she’s searching for something, not just lost in thought. He nudges her bicep with his elbow, receiving a grunt in return, along with a lifted arm, palm open, waiting for her drink. Mako hands it off to her, watching as she wraps her fingers around the glass, sitting up in the same motion.

After taking a few gulps from it — never did anything half-assed, she did — Korra turns her eyes to him, half-lidded, maybe she was scanning his body, he isn’t that sure as he drinks from his own glass.

“How’re they inside?” she suddenly asks. Memory jerking him back, Mako nearly chokes on his shōchū, _shit._ Shit damn. He coughs, muttering quickly:

“Fine. They’re just fine.”

Takes another drink.

He’s happy for them all. Hopes Asami and Hotaru make it to bed later.

Korra bursts out laughing, and he knows she’s laughing at him, at this stupid reaction.

“Done for the night, aren’t they? In prepost—er—“ she sticks her tongue out “—weird positions? Embarrassing, must be. You’re so easily flustered sometimes, Mako. I mean, they weren’t having _sex_ , were they?”

Mako spits out the rest of his drink.

“No! They —”

Another firework. He starts, shifting the subject. “Is that going to _end_ any time soon?” Picking his glass up, he goes to stand, but Korra grabs his forearm, squeezing gently.

“Lay down with me, Mako.”

He — he can’t say no, not the way those words flow smoothly, softly from between her lips. Like she’s half-lost in another world again, more than miles can handle counting. The conversation they were just having is apparently (thankfully) forgotten, and Mako sets down his glass.

He lays down next to her, crossing his arms behind his head. Still no stars. Doesn’t matter, they’d be shot out of the sky anyway with all these fireworks. _Would_ they ever stop? He wonders, then doesn’t wonder any more.

Korra turns on her side; he can feel her gaze on him, but he doesn’t move. Breathing steady, he squints, thinking _maybe_ that was a sliver of a star, but. No. She cups his chin, turning his head toward her.

“Hey,” she breathes.

“Hey,” he returns, breathless.

Her lips press against his, hungry but tender. He turns on his side; tips of noses bump against each other as they fit themselves together, and he feels like perhaps this could be it. The start and end of all things, everything fit into this night: the lull in fireworks, Korra pressed against him, kissing without a care to the celebrating city all around them. He might have even suggested they stay up here the night, reckless with the kind of abandon only Korra could bring out of him, but Korra pushes away, bringing him up with her as she stands, her hands still fit around his, fingers entwining.

“Have your keys on you?”

He nods, sticking a hand in his pocket, jangling them around. She grins, says something about her glider (“You _brought_ that?” he asks incredulously as she tugs him along), and then they’re back in Asami’s apartment again while she grabs it up. For a moment, she pauses, deciding on a whim to carry Asami, then Hotaru, back to the former’s bed. Probably _their_ bed by now, Mako offhandedly thinks, immediately chastising himself after.

Korra smiles over at Opal and Bolin when she comes back from down the hallway. “They’re fine there, aren’t they, Mako?” He shrugs.

“Best as they can be, though either could fall off. But that’s…”

The words are almost forgotten; Korra kisses him again, one hand cupping his cheek as the other scratches at the nape of his neck, catching a handful of hair. He kisses her back, but then she’s gone again, walking towards that window Asami had pointed out earlier as ‘the one that opened for emergency exits.’

“...their problem,” he finishes in a soft breath, slowly blinking over at Korra’s toned back.

She clicks the window’s lock open, turning to wink at him. “C’mon, Mako -- your place, let’s go!”

His feet take him over to her, not totally cognizant of his motions as he wonders… “How?”

She reminds him of how Katara and Aang had done it years ago, stories she’d been told in her childhood -- “You just gotta stick next to me, hold onto a handle with one hand, the other wrapped around my side” -- and maybe it’s his drunken state, but he listens, he takes the incalculable, ludicrous risk with her. She’s a catalyst all her own, affecting everyone around her. It’s bliss, tonight, and he hardly notices the last bursts of fireworks as the city begins to darken around them. But his apartment, yeah, he’d made sure to leave a lantern lit. All they have left to do is swing back around, click the window shut, and they’re gone.

He’s got a tight grip around her waist, and she his. His left hand grips one handle, her right wrapped around the other. The city is nothing, only a minute obstacle easily overcome to reach their destination. All is quiet this high up, and it’s just right. The few remaining fireworks have no distracting hold on him, unable to jerk his attention away from Korra, hanging onto her, the wind gusting against their bodies as she steers them towards his loft away from the new “center” of downtown.

When she dips into a turn, he follows, their movements in sync until they separate at his patio, nearly falling over each other against the table. Not enough room. Just enough to accidentally, purposefully, entangle their limbs. She clumsily folds up her air glider, tossing it in a corner. Their breath mixes, two breeds of shōchū, faces centimeters apart.

“Love you,” is all he manages to say. She grabs his face between her hands, and her kiss is aching with want, a fire that bursts, dizzying. He slips with a moan, pressing back into her. She scratches down his cheek, and they’ve -- _“Inside,”_ he murmurs, his voice rough. Short, but she understands.

In a haze, he screws up unlocking his door three times, and she’s giggling by the time they reach the bedroom. He throws the keys, unaware, uncaring of where they land.

 _Bed_ and _Korra_ are all that matters right now.

Not even stray fireworks draw his attention away.


End file.
